Six months later, Adrian pleaded guilty to assault and financial fraud, and his company forced him out after reviewing the evidence. Marjorie sold nearly everything she valued to cover legal costs and restitution, watching her perfect image collapse piece by piece.
I kept the house. I changed the locks, repainted the bedroom, and turned the guest room Marjorie wanted into a bright office filled with sunlight.
One spring morning, I sat barefoot by the window with coffee in my hand, watching roses bloom along the fence. My bruises had healed, but my memory had not.
When Adrian called one last time to apologize, I let it ring until voicemail picked up—then deleted the message without listening.
